


a rose by any other name

by the_nerd_youre_looking_for



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'you know what would be really funny', Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Demon Fuckery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Jailbreaks, Kidnapping, Liberal Use of Magic, Liberal Use of Pulling Things Out of my Ass, M/M, Magical Glamor, Post-Apocalypsn't, Stupid Demon Characters, The Power Of Love, World's Worst Game of Hide and Seek, basically some stupid demon teens hit their bongs and were like, i have to think up these riddles myself so apologies if theyre dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_youre_looking_for/pseuds/the_nerd_youre_looking_for
Summary: After the end of the world came and left, after Aziraphale and Crowley had their trials by fire (and water), they thought they would finally be left alone. They thought it'd be safe to finally be together and go about the rest of eternity openly loving each other. While Heaven seems content to forget about them completely, Hell doesn't. Demons like to play games, make deals, craft testsAziraphale and Crowley wake up, across the world from each other, locked in complex magical cells. The rules are simple. Escape their respective prisons and find each other, with the aid of three hints, in a year or less. If they are unable to? Death. Very simple indeed, but demons don't play fair.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 10
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	1. The Game (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boughofawillowtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/gifts).



> Yo this is my work for the Good Omens Holiday Swap! :) I saw the prompts for adventure and hurt/comfort and dragged this out of the swamps of my brain. It's,,,long but I hope you enjoy!

Crowley woke up with a raging headache and aching limbs. His eyes focused on the dark room and he could barely make out his surroundings. Bare stone walls, wooden door off to one side, two bare lightbulbs hanging off the ceiling unlit. This was not his bedroom. Or living room. Or any other room he typically goes to sleep in. He sat up slowly, resisting the urge to scream and run, at least for now. A few blinks and a better look around the small room let him know he was alone. He wasn’t restrained, at least not physically. Something about the whole place felt entirely too...suppressive for his tastes. Crowley rubbed his forehead and felt his sunglasses missing. Something was afoot. He stood up and paced across the width of the room, trying to retrace his steps. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temple, which didn’t help with the headache. He remembered being in his flat with Aziraphale. They’d come there to spend a little more time together after their date (he still couldn’t believe they were properly  _ dating _ now). And then...something happened. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if that might help put the fuzzy recollections into focus. He remembered being smacked in the head with something and that was that. “Explains the headache.” He mumbled to himself. 

If something had happened to him, then something must have also happened to Aziraphale. Unless the angel had gotten out in time, but he wasn’t sure. Crowley tried to reach out to sense his heavenly aura and came up blank. No matter the distance, he’d always been able to sense Aziraphale’s aura. He had a type of energy completely distinct from Crowley’s own, partly due to his angelic upkeep and partly due to them being two separate entities. And as the only two entities permanently stationed on Earth, Crowley could find Aziraphale’s aura from anywhere he might’ve been except for...after the bookshop burnt down. When he’d been discorporated. Crowley paced faster and breathed slowly and deliberately, keeping his heart from beating right out of him. If Aziraphale was in Heaven, that would be bad. But he would’ve surely remembered if he’d been brought back up for any reason. If Aziraphale hadn’t been discorporated, then he might be dead. Also unlikely, Crowley managed to get the part of his brain that wasn’t screaming to think. If he was locked up, it made sense that Aziraphale might be too. But then again, when did anything in their lives ever make sense? Before he could answer that question, the door creaked open, the dim lights clicked on, and two demons walked in.

Crowley could  _ tell  _ they were demons. First of all by their looks. One was a small and emaciated figure with needle-like teeth and pitch black eyes, and the other was tall and pale with bloody bandages wrapped around her eyes. Second of all, he could sense their auras and they were certainly demonic in nature. Guessing by the power of their energies, Crowley would assume they were pretty low-level, some sort of secretaries or office workers. He quickly crossed his arms and closed off his expression, setting his jaw in what was usually quite an intimidating expression. 

“Hey, you!” The shorter one rasped out. “Man, you were unconscious for shorter than I hoped! Thought we could give you a bit of a scare when you woke up, but oh well.” He smiled, an action that stretched across most of his face. 

“I demand to know just what the fuck is going on here.” Crowley said firmly, striding towards the pair. “Who are you, where am I, and what type of funny business do you think you’re getting up to?” 

“Well, I’m Tar’gen, and the quiet one over here is Zalgith.” Tar’gen gestured at himself and his partner. “She’s pretty famous ‘round our circles, inspiration for  _ The Ring _ and all. That demon girl was modeled after her.” After he said it, Crowley could see the resemblance. “And this brings us to the funny business!” Tar’gen rubbed his hands together, still smiling unnaturally wide. “We know you and that angel, you’re all lovey-dovey and  _ sweet  _ with each other.” Tar’gen made gagging noises and laughed at Crowley’s barely guarded alarm.

“Well, where is he?” Crowley tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, not daring to give away just how much he cared. “Do you have him locked up somewhere?”   
  


“Not us, not here.” Tar’gen shrugged. “A couple of our friends have him, and I promise you he’s just as alright as you are.”

“A demon’s promise means nothing.” Crowley reminded him, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t sense him either.”

Tar’gen giggled and glanced up at Zalgith, whose mouth had quirked up in what could’ve been a smile. “That’s just it! You can’t sense him and he can’t sense you! We’ve suppressed your auras!” He exclaimed. “Plus we did some quick glamor magic and you won’t even look like yourselves to any outside viewing. Take a look! I actually did your glamor, I think it doesn’t look half bad.” Zalgith waved her hand and suddenly Crowley was standing in front of a full-length mirror. His reflection looked like...just some guy. Average height and weight, freckles, uncombed brown hair and unstyled facial hair. He patted his face just to check that he hadn’t suddenly grown a beard, just in case. He had to say, he was actually impressed with the illusion, despite himself.

“See? Your little angel will never know it’s you if he sees you! And you won’t even know it’s him if you see him!” Tar’gen clasped his hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet. “So, do you wanna know the rules?”

Crowley stepped away from the mirror and fixed the two with a flaming scowl. “What rules? And what do you mean  _ if  _ we see each other?”

“The rules of the Game, duh.” Tar’gen made an expression that indicated he was rolling his eyes. “Rule one, once you escape the prison we are not allowed to put you back in. Rule two, I will give you three hints on your angel’s appearance, location, and where to find the next hint. Rule three, if you don’t find each other within a year, we’ll kill you. Rule four, Zalgith here will be hunting you down and trying to discorporate you. Discorporation is an instant loss.” He finger-gunned and laughed. “The angel has the same rules as you, different Clue-Giver and Hunter. Our buddies Angrallan and Razzod.”

Crowley blinked, trying to process the information. “Kill, as in….” He trailed off at Zalgrith’s slow nod. “But...you can’t do that, Hell will have you for it, especially with how low on the ranks you are.” He protested, trying to grasp at the upper hand and being all too aware at how much he had lost it.

“Hell doesn’t give a fuck about you anymore.” Tar’gen said smugly. “We’d be doing them a favor if we killed you.”

“So is this a mission for them or something?” Crowley asked. His internal organs were tying themselves in any number of unnatural twists and turns. “Would’ve thought they’d pick someone more skilled.”

“Oh no, this is just a game.” Tar’gen waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve got a pack of cigarettes riding on you giving up by the second clue. Zalgith bet a copy of  _Mein Kampf_ on killing you within a month.” He shrugged. “Either way, it’ll be fun.” 

Crowley sagged back against the wall, giving up trying to act in any way like he could get out of this. He’d been outsmarted by the demonic equivalent of stoner teenagers, and somehow they were more fucked up than any elder demon might be. “Fine, whatever.” He muttered, pressing his face into his hands. “When’s this thing start?”

Tar’gen pointed to the space above the door and a clock appeared. “You get to escape at 8:30.” He said. “So in five hours. Aw, poor baby, so sad. Upset you aren’t Daddy’s special boy anymore?” He teased in a voice usually reserved for small children. “It’s not so bad. If you find each other, we’ll leave you be. It’s a deal, we can’t go back on it.” Zalgith silently stalked out of the room, and Tar’gen turned to follow. “Well anyway, try not to make it past two months so I can get my smokes. See ya in five hours!” He waved over his shoulder and slammed the door shut behind him. 

Crowley slid down to the floor, keeping his unfocused eyes on the clock. This was sick. This was horrible. This was exactly expected of Hell. He’d survived his trial in their eyes, and that was fair game, that showed he was strong and could survive it. But they still hated him and Aziraphale, so of course they would pull something messed up like this. He cast his gaze at the smooth linoleum floor and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. If he was worried, how must Aziraphale feel? He was smart and brave, but being suddenly held hostage and forced to play a twisted game for some demons’ amusement will rattle even the toughest of people. The clock continued to tick, probably louder than a normal clock would allow for due to it being demon-made. Five hours. Should be enough time to collect his thoughts and calm down a little. Enough time to come up with a strategy to get out of whatever place they had him locked up in. And Tar’gen had said they’ve a year to find each other. Crowley let out a shaky breath and inhaled slowly. Right. If they were both looking, it shouldn’t be that hard, now should it? Crowley wished, almost to an absurd degree, that he had his sunglasses with him to give him some sort of protection, even though it was only him in the room. Maybe he wanted to shield himself from his emotions. He wasn’t sure. Another shaky exhale, another deliberate inhale. Crowley pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars and tried to instill a sense of false confidence into himself


	2. The Game (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said that 2 chapters took me an eternity to write

Aziraphale opened his eyes to a raging headache and a desk in front of him. Upon further awakening, he could make out that the desk was more like a stained and scratched dinner table, and that he was tied to a chair. His wrists were bound, and his torso was tied to the back. He frowned and squinted in the low light, trying to make something out. Had he sleepwalked himself all the way into this mess? Searching his memories, he hadn’t even gone to sleep. He’d been at Crowley’s flat, and they had been talking about something, and then...Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. Wherever he was, he needed to find Crowley. Usually, he was able to sense his aura, but for some reason it wasn’t available. That sent Aziraphale’s heart racing. The only reason he’d not be able to sense Crowley was if he was down in Hell (unlikely) or if he were dead (possible, considering circumstances). Aziraphale stared harder into the dim lighting and realized that there simply was not a room around him. There was a table, some chairs, but no walls or ceiling. Given the level of light, that sort of thing should be visible, at least after his eyes had been adjusted. Before he could fully work out the logistics of the bubble of darkness he seemed to be in, a pair of footsteps echoed and a wave of demonic energy crashed over him.

“Well, well, well, the angel awakens.” Chuckled a low voice. Aziraphale couldn’t make out the body, but he could see a pair of large, glowing white eyes, and a smudge of blood red just above them that might’ve been hair. “Only took you five hours.” 

“Where are we and just what do you think you’re playing at?” Aziraphale snapped, struggling against his restraints fruitlessly. He was beginning to make out an outline of the white-eyed figure, filling in patches of pitch black skin around a neatly tailored suit. 

“I can’t quite tell you where you are just yet.” The figure pulled out a chair and sat, prim and proper. “And our game is really quite simple. Your...friend, Crowley, he’s alive and well, in much the same situation as you are.” They smiled, all gleaming white fangs. 

“Who are you?” Aziraphale asked. He didn’t like this demon’s composure, acting smug and professional. It set him on edge more than it would have if he were being threatened outright. 

The figure stretched out a hand, as if to shake Aziraphale’s, and then took it back with a bitten back snicker. “I’m Angrallan, and my friend behind you is Razzod.” They gestured, and looked somewhere above Aziraphale’s eyes. Angrallan pointed sharply at the chair next to him and a sigh and a shifty scuttling sound came from behind and moved around. Aziraphale tensed, nails digging into his palms. 

“Nice to meet ya.” Rasped who must’ve been Razzod as she sat. Her skin was a light brown that had the appearance of a beetle’s shell. Adding to her bug-like exterior were two antennas peeking out from her thick and disheveled black hair and two mandibles growing on either side of her mouth. She spoke perfectly clearly, but her voice had an underlying clicking to it. 

Aziraphale swallowed hard and tried to keep a neutral expression. No use letting them get under his skin. “Explain yourselves, demons.” He commanded. “What do you want with us?”

Razzod shrugged and smiled widely. “Eh, not much.” She said. “We got bored, so we decided to play a game.” She tapped her slim fingers on the table, making a harsh clicking sound. “Angrallan, darling, wanna explain?”

“I am trying to be cool here, I wanna sound intimidating, ‘darling’ isn’t helping.” Angrallan stage-whispered to Razzod with a glare that could melt the polar ice caps faster than they already are. A cleared throat and deep breath later, their composure was restored. They smiled cooly and laced their fingers together, leaning back in their seat. 

“The rules are as follows.” They said through a smirk. “You and your little demon lover each have a magical glamor around you, making you look like completely different people. Once this bubble of darkness falls, you will find yourself in an escape room, functionally. If you escape unharmed, we cannot force you back in. I will be giving you clues to your demon’s whereabouts, appearance, and where to find me for the next clue. You get three and three only. Razzod will be allowed to attempt to discorporate you, which results in an instant loss for you.” Angrallan leaned forward, eyes widening in excitement. “You have a year to find your precious Crowley. If you can’t manage that, we’ll kill you. Fair play.” 

Aziraphale felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. “Kill, as in…”

Razzod groaned and slammed her hands on the table. “Yes, kill as in we’ll light you up with hellfire and dunk your pretty boy’s head into holy water, Satan almighty.” She rolled her eyes. “They don’t care about either of you. I can tell you firsthand Lord Beelzebub and all the Dukes would be more than pleased to see Crowley down the drain. I’ll hazard a guess that Heaven would be pretty thrilled if you turned into Kentucky fried angel, so don’t give me any shit about how they’d all be upset or whatever.” 

“Right, thank you for the clarification.” Aziraphale said faintly. God, hadn’t they just narrowley avoided this exact fate? It’d been about a year now, but a year feels like a day. Practically just a day since he’d escaped hellfire and Crowley dodged holy water and now an identical execution is looming over them again. But they had a chance again to avoid it, he told himself. No point losing hope over a situation that isn’t so bad given a moment of clear thought. An escape, three hints, and a year to find Crowley. The odds weren’t that bad, especially considering that it’s a very small world. They’d run into each other too many times over the millenia for it to be some sort of coincidence, so Aziraphale felt certain he’d chance upon Crowley somewhere and it would all be sorted out. 

“So, when this is all over with, you lot will leave us be, yes?” Aziraphale asked, feeling a small thrill run through him at his boldness. 

Razzod hooted and slapped the table, and Angrallan barked out a terrible, horrible laugh that made Aziraphale regret letting his corporation hear. “We got the fun one!” Razzod cried, pointed excitedly at Aziraphale. “Told you! Told you the angel would have a bite to him! He’s fucking hilarious!” 

Angrallan wiped their eyes and sighed, a blinding smile still lingering on their face. “I love the confidence.” They said. “Keep it up, I’ve got two gallons of good moonshine that your boyfriend breaks down before you do. But to answer your question, yes, my friends and I will leave you two be  _ if _ you win.” Angrallan waved their hand lazily at Aziraphale, who started at the feeling of the ropes falling away. “But there are other demons, so. Who knows?” 

Aziraphale frowned and rubbed at his wrists. “I’d like to think we’ll be more prepared in case any others decide to have their fun with us.” 

“You weren’t prepared for us, and we aren’t even  _ proper  _ demons.” Razzod snorted. “Imagine someone actually worth their damn coming for you. Wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

“Razzod, shut up. Shut up.” Angrallan hissed, standing up to tower over Razzod, who just shrugged and smirked. “We’ll be on our way. Once the darkness fades away, you’re free to make your escape. That should be about…” They glanced down at their wrist, as if checking a watch. “About an hour. So...rest up. You’ve got quite a shock coming once this falls.” And with another lazy gesture of their hand, they were gone. 

“Real stick up that one’s ass, huh?” Razzod said, jerking her head at the place Angrallan used to be. At Aziraphale’s lack of answer, she continued. “It’s no fun if you don’t say anything. Angrallan just wants to scare you a bit, been pissy since they got transferred to the Monster Under The Bed department. Not proper work in their eyes.” 

“Well. I hope they find better work?” Aziraphale offered, subtly pushing his chair further away from the demon.

Razzod shrieked, which Aziraphale assumed was a laugh. “No such thing! Anyway, go fuck yourself or something, make an event out of it.” She crouched down and launched herself into the air, leaving behind a faint buzzing noise after she disappeared that sounded like a distant swarm of bees. 

“Wasn’t she something.” Aziraphale muttered, stretching his stiffness out. He might as well stay seated until he was able to leave. He tried to imagine what Crowley might be up to. Where might he be held? Was he afraid? Aziraphale stamped down his growing worry. It was fine, he told himself, everything was just alright. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Repeat until calm. Aziraphale tried to count the minutes, tried to count the scrapes on the table in front of him. Tried to keep his mind off of the situation, now that he was alone to think about it. Partially, it worked. Mostly, he kept wondering and worrying about his flame-haired demon. He had no doubt that Crowley would figure his way out of whatever puzzle they’d put him in. Crowley could be very clever if given the opportunity to show it. Aziraphale could only hope he’d be just as clever. He’d no idea what would happen if he couldn’t manage to get out of his trap. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he were given his clue and he was unable to figure it out. Crowley might not be the best with pattern recognition, but he knows how to find out the rules of a game and play them to his advantage. All Aziraphale knew how to do was follow the rules and go through the occasional loophole. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Repeat. He couldn’t let Crowley down. He  _ wouldn’t  _ let Crowley down. So, Aziraphale took all his worry, stuffed it into a back closet, and waited for his surroundings to be revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said the demons are actually my favorite characters


	3. The Escape (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the end is stupid it’s because it was written at 11:30pm and I’m tired

The seconds ticked by as if they were hours, and minutes crawled past like they were days. Mostly, Crowley slept. There was nothing else to do besides worrying and pacing the room, and those two options wore themselves out after about half an hour. He couldn’t stop himself from worrying, naturally, but he didn’t have to dwell on it. He was good at shoving things down, he could do it now. Staring at the walls had gotten boring after only ten minutes. So, Crowley took several naps. He’d wake up, briefly forget where he was, remember, stare at the walls a bit, and go back to sleep. He knew he should be forming some sort of escape plan, he knew Aziraphale must be doing that, or else was already escaped. But, Crowley reasoned with himself, he had no idea the layout of this area or what he might face. Plus he needed as much rest as he could get for this. 

Crowley woke up from his fourth nap to a faint creaking noise and instantly jolted into a seated position. The door was opened with no one on the other side. A quick glance at the clock told him it was now 8:31, which meant either he was being watched or the room was on a timer. Slowly, slowly, he pushed himself off of the floor and cautiously treaded towards the door. Nothing seemed to be happening, and he couldn’t sense any more demonic energy than was already there. He poked his head out the door and looked left, right, straight ahead. It looked to him like a long, wide hallway. There were a few doors on either end, mannequins and boxes and random assorted junk scattered about. From his best guesses, it must’ve been some sort of warehouse. It was dark, too. Crowley rolled his eyes at the attempt to create an ominous atmosphere. One needed more than darkness and junk to make a place properly spooky. He reminded himself that there would definitely be all sorts of traps or curses or attempts on his life. Demons don’t play fair, he thought. Crowley should know this, he never played fair with demons. He took a deep breath in, willed his hands to stop shaking, and took a step out into the hallway. 

Almost immediately, _something_ flew at him. It was big and that was all he could tell before letting out an undignified screech and thrusting his hands out at it. Crowley’s eyes had closed automatically and he only opened them when he heard the crackle of flame and smelled smoke. He cracked his eyes open to see a flaming mannequin just inches in front of him. As far as he could tell, he must’ve lit it on fire himself. Crowley stood still for a moment, just breathing and practically forcing his heart to beat normally, before kicking over the mannequin. A second more he stared at it going up in flame, the plastic melting and disfiguring the sculpture’s figure. Then he took his first real step into the hallway, carefully, tensely. Crowley half-expected more mannequins to go ballistic, but nothing happened. 

“Ok, ok.” He said to himself, clenching his hands into fists. “We’ve got mannequins that go bonkers. I’ve dealt with worse. No problem.” Confidence was his go-to for any situation, a sort of optimism that it would all work out in the end, somehow, just because it should. In the event that that wasn’t working, false confidence worked just as well. Crowley wasn’t quite there yet. There were harder things he’d done to find Aziraphale, and had done so under more pressing circumstances. It would be alright. Just get past the ballistic mannequins and he’s as right as rain. 

Another step nearly sent him crashing headfirst into the floor. Crowley swore loudly and glared at the sheet of paper he’d slipped on, halfheartedly trying to burn holes into it with his gaze alone. He picked it up and was almost glad he’d not burnt it, as on one side there was a crudely drawn map. It would be enough to help him figure the place out, despite the scribbles and wobbly lines and little annotations like “smells bad here” or “we can’t fix this leak so you’ll get dripped on this way” that would take up most of the paper. He flipped it over and noticed a short note scrawled on the back. It read: “The journey might seem endless, so here’s some directions to pass the time! Love, Tar’gen”. Crowley exhaled a little laugh at that and flipped it back over to the map side. No way they’d give him something useful out of the goodness of their hearts. The map must be screwed up somehow. Inverted maybe, or the stupid notes were covering the only important bits. No way in Heaven or Hell it was worth anything. But all the same, Crowley held on to it. Might do a little good. He kicked a stray beer can down at a pile of dirt-covered mannequins to test their reactions. Nothing. Crowley decided it was as safe as it would ever be to proceed, and started to the end of the hall. 

In the darkness, Crowley could easily make out the glowing red EXIT sign that hung at the end of the hall. The light from the previous room provided a bit of illumination going forwards as well, so he wasn’t totally in the dark. At first, he was on edge, waiting for another attack from a mannequin or for something to pop out of one of the many crushed cardboard boxes. After five minutes of shuffling along and whipping his whole body in the direction of a slight noise, he eased up. After ten more minutes, the glowing EXIT had not gotten closer. Fifteen more minutes and he felt as if he were trudging along a treadmill. Crowley stood still and looked over his shoulder, just to make sure. The light from his first room was just a little white speck in a sea of dark gray. He turned a circle and then another and sat down heavily on a box. He flailed at the air when it collapsed under his weight, then rubbed hard at his eyes. There must be something fucking with his perspective. One of those tricks they do with the ramps and the lights and object placement. There had to be some explanation for it, an explanation that wasn’t an infinite stretching hallway. He rubbed at his eyes again until stars exploded behind them and took another look around. EXIT was still a mid-sized red dot to the right. The room he’d come from was a tiny white dot to the left. Across from him and slightly to the right, was a wooden door. Quick as a shot, he sprung up and across the hall. The door opened with a slight creak and the dim light from the room he entered into nearly blinded him. Crowley blinked away the brightness and glanced around. It was a small room, bare stone walls, wood floor, completely empty. Two lit lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. There were no other doors. Crowley shrugged and turned to go out the way he’d came. He opened the door and, again, nearly tripped and fell flat on his face. He swore again and caught himself on the doorframe. 

There on the threshold was a charred, blackened, and half-melted white plastic mannequin. Crowley could feel his blood rushing in his ears. He looked up and sure enough there was a clock above the door. Now, it read 11:53. He didn’t know if it meant morning or night or how many days it’d been. 11:53 was all he got. Crowley had gotten so used to the passage of time that the absence of it scared him more than the spatial loop he seemed to be stuck in. He turned a circle, just in case he might’ve missed something. Nothing. 

“Alright Crowley.” He said to himself. “You are perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about! Just a repeating hallway that loops back on itself.” He plastered on a smile and placed his hands on his hips. “Nothing to worry about.” He then immediately contradicted himself by tripping over the mannequin in his haste to get out, running down the hall, almost crashing into the nearest door, and tearing it open, only to find himself in the same room he’d just left. Crowley kicked the mannequin out of the doorframe and stepped over its charred form as he ran down the hallway again. The clutter blurred into the walls, and his heartbeat drowned out any other possible sound. He skidded into another door, unsure of how far he’d gone, and tugged it open. Same room. 

Crowley shakily let himself slide down against the wall, focusing on just breathing. It had to be possible to leave the loop somehow, otherwise Tar’gen and the others wouldn’t have bothered to set up rules and a time limit to this game of theirs. At least one door would lead to another part of the building. All he had to do was find it. A quick glance at the clock told him it was now 1:30. One door would go somewhere else, anywhere else. Crowley stood back up, bounced on the balls of his feet and shook his hands out. He’d be fine. Aziraphale had probably already figured a way out of his area and was probably out there, figuring everything out. Crowley had to do some of the work too, can’t let his angel have all the fun. He breathed deeply, concentrating on just that. Then, Crowley snapped his fingers and two things happened simultaneously. 

First, his signature pair of sunglasses materialized in his hand. Crowley put them on and exhaled, feeling a bit of confidence return.

Second, the fingers on his right hand grew long, sharp nails that glowed red-hot. He shook out any stray sparks or flames that might’ve burst up and strode out of the holding cell. 

The first door he chose was the first one to his left. Odds were, he’d end up in that same room again. The odds of any door being the one that lead anywhere but were insanely low, but he had to try all of them. And he couldn’t go running around like a chicken with its head cut off either. No, for once in his life, Crowley was going to have to come up with an organized plan and stick with it. He scraped down the door with his right hand, leaving behind five fiery stripes. Now he’d know where he had been. 

Open the door and he was back in the same room. Just as predicted, he told himself. He strode out again and tried the first door on the right. Back in the same room. 

“Where’s the fun if it’s the first blessed door, right?” He muttered, hands on his hips, staring down the glowing red EXIT that seemed to be mocking him. He had a long walk ahead of him. 

Fourteenth on the left. 9:35. Back in the starting room. 

Fifty-fifth on the right. 6:11. Back in the starting room. 

One hundred and third on the left. 1:00. Back in the starting room.

He’d lost count. 3:58. Back in the starting room. Walking down the hall was a blur of boxes, mannequins he swears move when he can only see them out of the corner of his eye, and glowing red marks. It’d be easier to see if he took his sunglasses off, but he felt a little more in control with them on. Crowley followed a system. Start with the door on the left, close the door once in the starting room, turn a full circle to make sure it’s the same room, then go back down and do the same thing with the door on the right. It was dull and repetitive and he felt like he was only half awake, but he kept on. There was one door that would lead somewhere else. That played over and over again in his head, when he was sick and tired of this mind-numbing routine he had to put himself through, when the EXIT laughed at him. There was one door that would lead somewhere else. Aziraphale was probably out there, being smart as usual, probably halfway to wherever the unholy shit he was. Crowley had to put in a bit of effort on his part. 

The last time he’d looked at the clock, it was 2:34. He didn’t know how long his walk down the hallway took, but it felt like years. He hoped it hadn’t been. Almost in a trance, he did his customary scratch on the next door he happened upon and prepared to open it. Before he could, something latched onto his left wrist and held fast. Crowley let out a garbled scream and turned, seeing the blank face of a wooden mannequin right next to him. He’d stopped paying attention to them entirely, they’d not done anything since the first one. Crowley jerked his arm away hard and the arm came loose with a pop. He tried shaking it off, but if anything the grip grew stronger. He was flapping his arm like an idiot when he felt the fingers loosen. He hummed a laugh and opened the door, giving his arm one more shak for good luck. 

The doorway opened on an unlit staircase going up. He couldn’t tell how far up it went but he didn’t need to know, all he needed to know was that he was on his way out. Crowley squeezed his eyes tightly shut because _he was not going to cry over something this stupid_ and took some deep breaths that mostly turned into short laughs. There wasn’t any helping the excitement at finally seeing something new. He bounced eagerly on the balls of his feet and raced up the steps two at a time, trying very hard not to fall over himself. 

Four steps up, Crowley felt an odd pressure moving up his left arm. He slowed his pace and casually glanced down before the wooden arm latched its fingers around his throat. His eyes widened and he instinctively gasped, to suck in any air he could get. As a demon, he does not need to breathe. Demons do not need lungs or oxygen or any of that. If they did, life would be a lot more inconvenient. However, demons assuming a human corporation often require many of the things a human body does. One such thing is oxygen circulating through the bloodstream. 

Crowley grasped at the limb with both hands, gasping and tugging at it with all he had. He could hold out longer than a human, that’s for sure. But not forever. Each time he tried to pull it off, its grip only tightened around him, but he couldn’t just _stop_ trying to get the blessed thing off. He stumbled down the stairs, hitting the concrete walls on the way down. He fell flat on his back when he missed the last two steps and let out a strangled groan as he felt the wind get knocked out of him. Stupid human bodies and their stupid flimsy organs. Crowley pulled harder at the arm, sucking in desperate little inhales. Black spots floated around his vision, and he could feel his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He was absolutely not going to get choked to death by a stupid mannequin arm, he thought. That is the worst way to get discorporated, he told himself, so we aren’t going to do it.

In a last ditch move, Crowley blinked and grew out his long, red-hot, nails again and dug them into the wooden limb as hard as he could with his remaining strength. The arm went limp and released its grip, and Crowley gulped down air like it was his favorite drink. Black liquid oozed out of the small marks Crowley’s nails had made and sizzled from the heat. Crowley sat up, and barely noticed when the arm fell off him and landed with a loud thud. He rubbed his throat and tried to slow his breathing down. Once he was convinced that he was all set, he stood up on shaky legs and tried the stairs again. Nothing else made a move at him. 

Twenty stairs, Crowley counted, until he nearly concussed himself on what felt to be a cellar door. He put his palm flat against it and swore when he sensed it was locked from the outside. It wasn’t much of a trouble, but magically picking locks wasn’t exactly easy either. A minute later and he felt it give and heard a small, nearly imperceptible click from the other side. With a smile stuck on his face, he pushed the door open. 

Crowley was immensely grateful that he’d worn his sunglasses, or else the sudden sunlight might’ve actually made him go blind. As it was, it hurt his eyes, and he had to squint and look at the cracked concrete ground until he adjusted. Once he had, he looked up and around at his surroundings. He was in an alley of sorts, tall buildings keeping him closed in at all sides. He turned to look behind him and found that door he’d just exited from was gone. 

“Wow, took you a while, huh?” Crowley whirled back around to see Tar’gen leaning against the opposite wall and crunching obnoxiously on some chips. “I took that thing for a test run and I made it three days. And that was by random selection that I made it out.” 

Crowley stumbler over his words before remembering how to speak. “How long was I in there?” He said hoarsely. “Where the fuck’d it go?” 

“You were in there a whole week!” Tar’gen cackled. “I was starting to think you’d died! No, I was texting the others and asking if the angel was out yet after three days and they said no, then the next day he was out! I was so afraid we got stuck with the stupid one.” He took out a handful of chips and chewed them with his mouth open, delighting in the disgusted face Crowley made. “Anyway, we didn’t need it anymore so it’s gone.”

Crowley knew if he thought about it, he’d get a headache. So, like most things, he put the disappearance of a whole, infinite hallway behind him and moved on. “You’re supposed to give me hints, aren’t you, you little shit.” He crossed his arms and strode across the narrow alley to tower over Tar’gen. The smaller demon seemed unaffected by the action. 

“Wow, Zalgith messed you uuppp.” Tar’gen said, almost in awe. “She’s got a real grip, huh? Anyway, welcome to good old Boston, Massachusetts!” He spread his arms wide and smiled. “Home of shitty coffee store chains, road rage, and the worst case of sports Pride you’ll see anywhere this side of the States.” 

Crowley nodded silently and backed off, just a step or two. “Right.” He muttered, noting the chill, the sound of cars honking. He’d been in Boston once, just before the Revolution. Just a quick whisper in an ear was all it took to get the colonists destroying English property and acting like fools. It was one of the high points in his career. “So. Where’s the hints? I’m not in the mood to chat.”

Tar’gen stuck out his bottom lip and pouted, doing a good impression of a petulant seven year old being told to go to bed. “Aw, you’re not any fun.” He whined. “But whatever. Here.” Tar’gen threw his chip bag onto the ground, where it was promptly carried away by a breeze, and plucked a sheet of paper out of the air. “Top hint is for the angel’s location, middle is appearance, third is where I’ll be with the second hint. We’ll be staying in the city.” 

Crowley snatched the paper and skimmed the lines. “What the hell type of language is this?” Crowley asked. It definitely used the same alphabet, but the words looked like a jumble of nonsense.

“It wouldn’t be any sort of fun if it was _easy_ to figure out, duh.” Tar’gen scoffed. “I won’t tell you. You’ve been up here long enough, go to a library or something. Use Google. Or don’t. If you give up now I get the good dildo for a month.”

“I’ll manage.” Crowley said. Looking over the words again, he could just almost recognize it. There was something,old but not ancient, that was being tugged out of his memory. Given enough time, he’d figure it out. 

Tar’gen shrugged and pushed himself off the wall. “Whatever you say. See you around, fucko.” With a little wave goodbye, Tar’gen was gone and Crowley was left alone with a sheet of useless paper to keep him company.

He looked down at it again, his grip crumpling the sides of the paper. This was it. He should’ve known they’d do something like this, something sneaky. But, if Tar’gen wasn’t lying, Aziraphale had already made it out, and fast at that. So he was already looking and figuring out his clues. Crowley let himself smile, thinking of his angel, and hope that they’d figure this all out very quick. It wasn’t an unfounded hope. Aziraphale was smart, smart enough to decipher centuries-old prophecies within a night, smart enough to piece the parts of any puzzle together long before anyone had even seen the pieces. And Crowley….well, he didn’t give up on things and that had to count for something. 

First Clues 

1\. Hoc domus dolorem odit, pacem amat, balneum offert, vitam beatam suadet, et vult hospitare viros honestos

2\. Ob saporem et salutem, com floribus violis, nascuti sunt in terra hesperia trans marem

3\. In senex domus cibi me conperi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m using Google Translate so it sucks but let’s just pretend it’s all accurate  
> EDIT I have gotten help from the wonderful Zimniy_Soldat(MilesHibernus) on the Latin so it's more accurate! Big thank u to them :)


	4. The Escape (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know why this sucks it’s because it’s currently 12:22am

By Aziraphale’s count, it had been over an hour before the darkness started to fade away. He barely noticed the gradual shift from dark gray to slightly-less-dark gray, and then his surroundings were a simple gray color. He sat up straight, taking breaths to prepare for what might be facing him. It was something they didn’t want him to think about beforehand, obviously, or it wouldn’t be hidden. Perhaps a strategy based puzzle? Logic based? Something you ought to get an idea of. Watching the grays lighten was like watching a dreary sort of sunrise, where everything is hidden behind clouds and fog and nothing could indicate morning besides the gray light and birdsong. 

It took all of five minutes for it to fade away completely, and Aziraphale had to shut his eyes at the sunlight suddenly reaching him. When he blinked away most of the pain and he’d adjusted to the light, he found that his chair and the table in front of him had vanished with the bubble they sat in. In their place was a full-body mirror. Aziraphale hardly realized it was a mirror at all, and thought it some sort of window, until the person in the mirror started copying all his movements. “Oh!” He gasped, suddenly recognizing the curly-haired redhead woman in front of him as himself. It was a rather impressive glamor spell, he had to admit it. While Aziraphale had not gone around in a female corporation since the 1940s, he wasn’t averse to introducing more “feminine” habits into his life, such as wearing a bit of makeup or going by the pronoun “she” for a month or so. So if this is the look he’d been given, he’d manage. 

Once Aziraphale was finished examining every inch of the person he needed to get used to being, he took a good look at his surroundings. He was in the center of a large patch of grass, encircled on all ends by towering hedges. Directly across from him was a break in the wall, through which he could see more hedges. So. He’s to find his way through a hedge maze. Aziraphale was certain there were tricks and tomfoolery up its sleeves, but a hedge maze isn’t that difficult a task. 

“Now, what is it they say about finding your way out?” He mumbled, striding to the maze’s entrance. It opened up into a wide corridor stretching in both directions. “Always take the rights or the lefts?” Aziraphale stepped out into the middle of the grassy path, tramped down as if many people had walked down these trails already. Hands on his hips, he looked down either end, left and right, when another idea hit him. “Or...just go through the maze?” Now there was a thought. He walked quickly back into the circle he started in and walked to the opposite hedge wall. Tentatively, he reached a hand out and placed it palm first on the leaves. Aziraphale tensed up, expecting something horrible to happen. When half a minute passed and nothing had occurred, he pushed his hand wrist-deep into the leafy walls. 

Aziraphale blinked up at the sudden sky, feeling burnt to a crisp. He’d been hit by lightning once, back in the 1400s, and this felt like the aftermath of that, only milder. Electrocuted hedges. Absolutely ridiculous, the things some demons could think up. He gave himself a minute before he felt well enough to stand, and even then he felt dazed and wobbly. So, cheating his way out of this was a no-go. Aziraphale would have to find his way out of this puzzle with trial and error, same as anybody else. Once he had his bearings straight, he went back to the maze’s entrance. “Well, I wouldn’t assume right or left matters much.” He said. “And I would also assume that following the wall with your hand on it is also out of the question.” Chuckling to himself, he marched down the path to the right. 

It was definitely much later, but Aziraphale couldn’t tell how long exactly. It still looked to be about noon, so he couldn’t have been walking more than a few hours. He hadn’t encountered another path on the right hand wall, but there were plenty more openings to the other side of him. The temptation to go down one and see what types of things lay down those paths was almost unbearable, especially considering the monotony of walking in a straight line with no visible progress for what felt like hours on end, but he pulled himself out of it. If he kept here, he’d get to the exit quicker. Of course, of course, there’d be something to trip him up, he was prepared for anything the demons might pull to make this harder on him. But that was the trick, wasn’t it? To be prepared. 

The sun hadn’t moved but it felt like hours and Aziraphale had only just reached a corner. “Must be a large maze.” He said to no one really, and kept going with the right wall. 

The sun was still at a mid-afternoon height and it felt like forever had passed and nothing was happening. There were still paths leading to the left, and Aziraphale wanted to go down one, just to see what would happen. To see what’s there. But that wasn’t very productive to his course of action.

Aziraphale was starting to think the sun wasn’t going to set. It must be some sort of illusion, to make him lose track of time. Well, if that was the case, it was working. He was just about to go down a side path, just for something, when he spotted a break in the right wall up ahead. He quickened his pace, a small smile fighting its way across his face. He wouldn’t hope it’s an exit yet, because if he did and it wasn’t, he knew he might just give up and stray off the path. 

Despite his promises not to get his hopes up, Aziraphale’s heart still sunk a little once he saw that the entryway did not lead outwards. Instead, it opened up into a circular area, nearly identical to the one Aziraphale started out in, if not completely. Just to check, he circled the perimeter before leaving and starting back the way he went. If there was nothing there, there’s no reason to stay there. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. No need to worry, the exit might be on the other side. Or else it’s opened in the first circle and he’ll get there eventually. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. It’s fine. Just a nice little maze. How pleasant. Nothing to worry about. 

By the time Aziraphale reached the third circular area, he was beginning to wonder if he were going in circles. But he couldn’t have been, he told himself, because I started in one and have seen three. That’s four sides to a square, silly, he told himself. But still, doubts crowded in his mind. Was he not approaching this correctly? Was there something that he wasn’t doing? Was it obvious? He glanced up and idly noticed that, while the hedges were high, there was nothing above them. Maybe he was meant to leave from the top? But a quick look around told him that wasn’t it. The width of the path wouldn’t allow for his wings to be extended without electrocuting himself. It must be something else. It was probably really obvious and Aziraphale was just dense and stupid and couldn’t see the exit if there was a neon sign in front of him. Crowley might already be out, and then what? Then he would be letting Crowley down by still being stuck in here, is what. 

“Let’s just do another lap around.” Aziraphale held out his hands as if he were calming somebody down. “Just to see if I missed anything the first time around. Who knows, maybe something opens up on the second trip around!” 

Nothing opened up the second trip around. All it did was serve to disorient him further and make him sweaty. The hot sun and his many layers combined to exhaust him, and he wished he had a nice cup of water, if only to cool him down just a little. But there was something about the maze that felt...dampening. Repressive, maybe was more correct. Aziraphale didn’t know if miracles would work here, and he didn’t want to try. 

There was nothing new by the compulsory third trip around. Aziraphale wasn’t sure which enclosure he was by. He sat down, put his face in his hands, and tried to think. There was no way to get out through the edges. He couldn’t get out from over. He couldn’t simply walk through the walls. And as far as he noticed, there wasn’t anything under his feet either. Which only left…

He looked up with a start and a smile. Of course, he should’ve understood his first time around! If the exit wasn’t at the edges, it must be in the center, or else in the middle somewhere. Aziraphale clambered to his feet and glanced down the left-side wall. There were several openings, he didn’t know which one to pick. It was nearly overwhelming. Eventually, he walked through the one closest and hoped for the best. 

It felt as if he’d walked into another world. This area was darker and narrower, and felt a lot cooler than outside. It was nearly a relief, if he didn’t have to watch for any limbs of his hitting the walls. This was the right choice, Aziraphale was certain now. 

He wasn’t sure how long it was. Several times he got lost. Several times he hit a dead end and had to turn around. But somehow, some way, Aziraphale managed to find the exit. The center of the maze was enclosed by rounded walls, with entrances at each cardinal direction. Aziraphale walked all around the circle of it, checking to make sure, seeing that nothing was wrong. After this long, he almost expected it to be another dead end. After all, why shouldn’t it be? But, after concluding that it seemed legitimate enough, Aziraphale tentatively stepped into the circle.

Outwardly, there was nothing different. It was a small circle surrounded by hedges. But in the center of it was a wooden door. Not connected to anything, just standing by itself. Aziraphale circled it, and there was nothing. Slowly, cautiously, he reached a hand out and touched the doorknob with his fingertips. No electric shock. No fire. No anything. Just cold metal.

Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. 

Aziraphale grasper the doorknob fully and waited. Still cold metal. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and swung the door open. He hastily stepped through and prayed that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself. 

He opened his eyes and instantly deflated like a popped balloon. The sky was dark and peppered with stars. The grass under his feet was not yet pressed down with the wear and tear of being walked on. Most importantly, there were no more hedge walls. The entire maze seemed to have melted into the ground. Aziraphale pressed a hand over his mouth and the other over his heart. He did it. It took him a while, but he did it. His eyes stung and he blinked frantically to get rid of the tears. It was quite something to see a night sky after spending days under the sun. 

“Why, bless my heart.” Aziraphale whipped around to Angrallan standing just behind him. “Congrats. I was worried that you’d never figure it out.” 

Aziraphale backed up and crossed his arms across his chest. “Yes, well, one needs to be certain.” It was easier to see Angrallan when they weren’t backdropped by complete darkness. He could tell now that they did indeed have rust-red hair that appeared to have been shaved, and that they stood a lot taller than Aziraphale expected.

“Whatever you tell yourself.” Angrallan smirked. “Now, on the matter of hints. I’ll tell you them, no problem! Just...one catch.”

“What is it?” Aziraphale took a step forward. He was certain he’d do whatever it was, no matter the cost of it. If it meant he’d see Crowley again. 

“You need to force them out of me.” Angrallan leaned against and invisible wall and smiled. “Intimidation, physical threats, Heaven, you could try to seduce it out of me if you wanted to get a little freaky.” They laughed at Aziraphale’s disgusted expression. “No matter what, you won’t get anything out of me unless I feel sufficiently impressed. If you manage to actually scare me, I might just tell you outright where he is.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. He was certainly no stranger to intimidation. Getting some information out of a demon wouldn’t be much of a problem, if this was the only cost. “Alright.” He said. “I suppose I have no choice, do I?”

“Nope.” Angrallan said, popping the ‘p’. “I’ll go easy on you this time.” They stretched their arms above their head and were still for a time, as if in deep contemplation. Then, there was a horrible wet cracking sound, and Angrallan’s skin bubbles and distorted. Aziraphale looked away before he could vomit at the sight.

“I’m alll ready!” Said a much higher-pitcher voice than before. Aziraphale looked up, only to see Angrallan gone. In their place was a little girl, who looked to be no more than three. “What are you waiting for, angel?” The girl, who was apparently Angrallan, said. They smiled innocently up at Aziraphale.

All he had to do was remember that this was a demon. Not a little girl. But the longer he looked at them, the less he could believe it. Wouldn’t it be typical of a demon like this to possess a small child? “You...give me the hints.” Aziraphale said shakily.

“Not good enough!” The girl sat down in the grass and giggled. “Try harder~!”

“Angrallan, demon of Hell, give me the information owed to me or face smiting.” Aziraphale tried for a more formal approach, clenching his fists by his side. He didn’t like intimidation. It was dreadful business really, and although he was built for war and such didn’t mean he enjoyed the aspects of it.

“That’s just it, isn’t it.” The girl said. “I’m from Hell. This is mild compared to what I deal with daily. You aren’t even scarier than the paperwork.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and let his corporation go, just slightly. Just enough for his eyes to glow a bright blue, enough for a few additional eyes to open up all over his body, enough for him to emit a glow of his own. “Tell me what you know,” he amiefied his voice, only slightly, “and I will spare your mortal vessel from combusting into flame.”

Angrallan was silent for a moment before giving a nearly imperceptible nod. “Good enough. I’ll let this poor quality slice by, just for now.” They stood up and Aziraphale looked away once the cracking started. “Next time, try harder.” 

  
  


First Clues

  1. His defining features are hidden, by choice 
  2. Walk the path of rebellion, walk the path of betrayal, walk a path of history
  3. Come to me at the place where they rule no more 



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I view shapeshifting as inherently body horror


	5. First Hints (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely going to take a while to finish, what with the amount and length of chapters and my schedule starting to pick up soon with school and work and all. This is definitely a high priority fic to finish and I'll work on it when I'm able. I'm sorry it's gonna take a bit

The first thing Crowley did once he was left to his own devices was to find a place to stay. He’d booked a room at a decent hotel, just the right amount of shitty to live up to his standards. In his opinion, the hotels with pillows just soft enough to be uncomfortable and the room temperature just that side of unbearably stuffy were the best ones. Plus they usually had decent enough breakfasts to make up for it. His plan was to stay there for about a month or so, and then move onto another. If he stayed there for the full year, the hotel staff would probably get clued in that something weird was going on with him and Crowley would rather avoid anything like that. 

The second thing he did was change his outfit. The old set of clothes was dirty and dusty and gross and it didn’t work with the person he looked like. A couple miracles later, and he was in a gray flannel with dark jeans a little looser than he likes. It wasn’t his preferred outfit, but it was clean and it was certainly comfortable.

The third thing he did was relax. Crowley ran a hot bath in the grimey hotel tub and whipped up a good amount of bubbles and stayed in there for about the rest of the day. He knew he wouldn’t be able to figure anything out if he was stressing about it. If he was stressed he was definitely going to panic and if he panicked then absolutely nothing would get done and nobody would have any fun whatsoever. So, the bath happened to stay scalding hot all day long and the tub got a little less grimey while Crowley lay at the bottom and thought of pleasant things. Hot water always served him well.

The fourth and final thing he did, after he climbed out of the tub and gave himself a nice fluffy bathrobe, was pin the paper Tar’gen had given him to the wall and work on figuring out what it said. The language was...familiar. Crowley knew that he used to know it, and it felt like something he ought to know, but it was just out of reach in the back of his memory. He tried everything he could. He read it aloud, trying several different pronunciations just in case. He wrote the words down again. He attempted the tried-and-true method of simply staring at it and hoping the words would magically translate themselves. He tried to translate the words by using a small miracle, but the paper must’ve had some protections or deflection sigils somewhere on it because the words stayed stubbornly as the were. Crowley wanted to rip it apart, but what good would that do anyone? It wouldn’t do anything to let his frustrations get the best of him except inconvenience him. He took a few deep breaths and returned to the task at hand.

He’d let himself slip into somewhat of a daze somewhere around day three of being in Boston, which lasted into day four and he only got himself out of it because the cleaning person knocked on his door. Crowley whacked himself on the side of the head and mentally lectured himself. Was translating things his favorite thing to do? No, it wasn’t. But did he have to do it because otherwise he will die? Yes. He paced the room a few times, wishing there was something he could do to at least figure out what language it could be in. A very overdue lightbulb went off in his head at that thought, and Crowley whacked himself again. There were phones now, computers and such, technology that could translate things in about five seconds! And he didn’t even need much of it, since just finding out the language should be enough to jog his memory. He also didn’t want to risk the clues getting lost in translation, as he knew the unreliability of most popular translating sites all too well. He’d had a hand in that, of course. 

Crowley didn’t have his phone on him, which was something of an inconvenience. He hadn’t had it on him before he’d been kidnapped, and even if he had had it on him at the time, he didn’t really expect four demons smart enough to create a partial spatial loop to allow him to keep an item that could be used for easy and quick communication with Aziraphale. That just wasn’t how demons rolled. Angels, maybe, if they were the dumb type. So, a few conversations with hotel employees later, he was headed to the Boston Public Library, where he could use their computers, and possibly check out a whatever-to-English dictionary if need be. Crowley took the paper down from the wall and carefully folded it until it could fit in his pocket. He might have been a little too meticulous about the creases, but if he wasn’t doing that then what else were his shaking hands to do?

The city was warm and alive, the sun just starting to set behind the tall buildings. The sky was turning a bright orange, and all the streetlights and neon store signs were starting to turn on. Crowley liked this time of day, when the day wasn’t entirely done with and the night hadn’t really begun. He wasn’t usually all poetic and shit, but evening got to him. The prettiness of the hour was entirely mitigated by the constant honking of car horns, the sounds of people yelling, and the appearance of a Dunkin Donuts almost as soon as he’d left another behind. Must be good coffee or good advertising. Crowley made a note to stop by while he was here (it might be a forced vacation that he would probably hate most of, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a little bit of it). The sidewalks were crowded and winding, and by the time he managed to find a map, the sun was nearly set and it was dark. But by some miracle or lucky coincidence, he managed to stumble upon the public library. 

It was a wide building, only a few stories tall. Two statues of women sat outside, one holding a globe and the other holding an artist’s palette and brush. And, as Crowley discovered once he’d made it up the staircases to the doors, it was closed. He put his hands on his hips and sighed heavily, pushing his emotions out with the air. This was fine. There was always tomorrow, and if there wasn’t, there was always breaking and entering. Now, there was a thought. Crowley stepped forward and placed his palm on one of the doors, feeling around for the locking mechanisms. Simple locks, nothing he couldn’t easily work his way around. But, first things first. He snapped his fingers, and the security guard who got placed on night shift was half-watching a well structured loop of the last thirty minutes. The other half was wondering why he ever volunteered for night shift when his husband worked day shift at the hospital. 

Usually, Crowley would not be doing this. In a regular circumstance, he would turn around, try a Dunkin, and go back to his hotel and come back in the morning. He is not a fan of crime, not serious ones that could land him in jail anyways. But that’s all in regular circumstances. In a circumstance where he has a time limit on figuring these things out and he would like to get it done and over with as soon as possible, Crowley would consider a little bit of crime. He slowly unlocked the door, running over excuses in his mind. He wasn’t stealing anything, he wasn’t vandalizing anything, he wasn’t hurting anybody, he just needed to use a computer for not even a minute and then he’d leave the place as he found it. It barely even counted as illegal.

Right when Crowley was about to shut down the alarm and start working on the lock itself, he heard a very distinct and very loud creak. “Could be anything.” He mumbled, pointedly ignoring the sudden rush of demonic energy. “Might be a rat.” He focused on opening the lock, ignoring the overwhelming feeling that he was being watched and ground-shaking thumps that were headed his way. Whatever it was, it sounded big, so theoretically if he got inside he would be safe. Crowley ran his free hand through his hair and wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth, and undid the final piece of the lock. Without an ounce of hesitation, he swung the door open and hurried inside, slamming the door back immediately. Crowley pressed his back to the door, breathing heavily and trying to force his heart to calm down. If he didn’t need that damn heart thing, he thought, he would be rid of it. 

When he felt he was done freaking out, he tiptoed to the window a few feet away. Outside, the two statues of women were returning to their seated positions. Crowley’s breath caught in his windpipe and he forced himself to exhale. So that was what it was. If he had been just a second slower, he would’ve been smashed flat like a bug under a newspaper. He sucked in another breath and pushed himself off the door, only to leap right back at the sight of another statue just to the left of him. It was of a man in very old-fashioned clothing, placed in a large alcove which was positioned by the bronze doors to the library. It wasn’t doing anything. Another forced inhale, and Crowley unplastered himself once again to push through the doors. He was alright, nothing was going to get him in here. He was alright. 

The rest of the library wasn’t much. Sure, it was impressive, even just from the lobby Crowley could tell that a lot of time and history went into this building, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to appreciate it yet. Maybe sometime later he could take Aziraphale, he would adore it. Old quaint buildings and books, what would he find to dislike? But that was for later. Crowley wandered around a bit, passing a staircase with marble lions (what was with libraries and lions? That seemed to be a bit of a common theme with them), a courtyard, and a cafe before he found the actual library portion of it. It was all so eerie, with no one around and all the lights turned off. Even with the noticeable lack of anybody alive, he felt as if he were being watched. Constantly, he looked over his shoulder and peeked around every corner to make sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone. And every time, there was no one. “I’m just being paranoid.” He whispered to himself, feeling like it might be deadly to speak above a breath. “I would be able to tell if there was anyone. For one, there would be noise.” Over to the left were the computers. Crowley sat down in front of the one closest and unfolded the sheet of paper, laid it out neatly, and smoothed the creases out as best as he could. He pressed his hand to the computer screen and it glowed to life, already on the browser without needing a login. Crowley went right to Google Translate. It might not be the most reliable, but if it was just a couple words at a time, it was decent enough. He typed in a phrase from the second clue. 

“Nam gustus et salutem” 

He held his breath as it loaded the translation for a moment, and then it popped up. 

“Nam gustus et salutem”. Latin for “For flavor and for health”. 

Latin. 

Holding his breath, Crowley typed in a few more short phrases.

“Antiquis domus”. Latin for “old house”. 

“Haec domus dolorem odit”. Latin for “This house hates sorrow, loves peace”. 

It was Latin. Which, while better than several other languages, Crowley was not particularly proficient in. One might be wondering, that if Latin is so often used to summon demons then wouldn’t it make sense for a demon to at least have a passing understanding of the language? The answer is simple. The words are simply words of power that people who were interested in summoning demons decided sounded much cooler in Latin a very long time ago. Also, once Latin had stopped being a commonplace language, Crowley had given up on trying to retain it since he was confident that he would never really need it again. Past Crowley was wrong, as it would have benefitted Present Crowley to be fluent in Latin right about now. But as it was, it wasn’t that bad. This was a library, after all. There had to be a Latin-to-English dictionary in there somewhere. He folded the paper back up again, and headed back to the books. Crowley was smiling, despite himself. He’d made a dent in this puzzle, and it didn’t seem to be overly difficult. Now that he knew what language it was, a few words jumped out at him when he looked at it. He idly wondered if all of them would be in Latin, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came to him. Of course they wouldn’t make this even remotely easy for him. It took him long enough to just get this far, and he hadn’t even fully translated anything yet. But he was closer than he was before to figuring it all out, and that was what mattered now, wasn’t it? Nothing could kill his good mood, not even the intensified feeling that he was not alone as he climbed the Grand Staircase to the nonfiction books.

Finding a Latin-to-English dictionary was easy enough. Spend enough time with Aziraphale, and almost anyone will pick up on the Dewey Decimal system, especially if it’s been thousands of years and the angel very clearly does not abide by the system at all. Book in hand, Crowley turned back around only to find himself stuck. On either end of the aisle stood a marble lion, ready to pounce. Crowley had no idea how they got there so quietly, but he wasn’t about to question them. They stalked towards him, and he pressed himself against the bookshelf. His heel caught on the edge of the bottom shelf which gave him an idea. A quick snap of his fingers and the book and paper were both safely on the desk in his hotel room, which left both of his hands free to climb the bookshelf. It was tricky for the first moment, going up backwards to keep an eye on the marble lions and using minor miracles to keep the books from spilling, but he soon got the hang of it, and he was perched atop the shelf. Crowley risked a glance around the room and found the situation was worse than originally thought. The statue of the man from the entrance was standing at the door, while another of a nearly-naked woman and a man holding an infant in one hand made quick progress to the aisle Crowley was in. Another snap of his fingers, envisioning his hotel room, and…

Nothing. He tried again, and another time, but he stayed on top of the bookshelf. Crowley’s heart rose into his throat and threatened to pop as he watched the lions hoist themselves onto the shelves. He sat frozen for a moment, but the second a stone paw showed itself on the edge of the shelf, Crowley stood and leapt across to the next one. And then the next, for safety. The roaming statues seemed attuned to his location, and immediately changed course. He gave himself a moment to breathe, and was instantly overcome with a wave of demonic energy. It must be possession. That demon, Zalgith, the one who had been the mannequins in the hallway and who Tar’gen had said was his Hunter. She apparently couldn’t be bothered to attack him personally. Crowley would almost be offended if he wasn’t very close to letting out a very uncool and undemonic scream of terror. Sneaking his way out of this wasn’t an option. He was very on display, and all the statues seemed to know where he was. Currently, the woman was standing at the end of the aisle and the man with the child was looping around to join the lions on the opposite side. Crowley was going to have to make a run for it. That wouldn’t be so bad, he was fast. It just depended on how fast the statues were. 

Out of nowhere, the lions rammed into the bookshelf, shaking it just enough that Crowley very nearly lost balance. The woman was waiting on the other side with arms wide open. Crowley scrambled to his feet and jumped to the next shelf over before they could knock it over. It seemed he didn’t get to think about this. The woman started climbing, and Crowley desperately glanced around the room for an escape. The door wasn’t an option, the man was still there. There were windows at the back of the room, where it looked like there were mostly kid’s books. Sure, he was about three stories up, but as a demon he’d be able to handle that fall. Especially if he found a decent bush or something to land on. All that mattered was getting there. He estimated about twenty seconds, maybe more. He could do it. 

Crowley waited until the woman was nearly at the top of the bookshelf before he jumped down into the next aisle and started running. The general plan was to get out and cause minimal damage to the place. So no smashed windows if he could help it. A cacophony of thudding sounded behind him, stone hitting rug, but he didn’t look back. No time for it. Crowley skidded to a stop in front of the window. He tried to swing it open, push it up, but it was locked. He searched for the lock frantically, and just narrowly avoided having his head crushed by the man with the child. Fortunately, the child statue, which was used as the weapon, had broken the window. Crowley broke a bit more, widening the area, before he slipped out. 

Crowley landed on his feet on the sidewalk outside and fell on his back. He took a few seconds to breathe and check for any injuries. Just a few scratches from the broken glass, nothing broken. He exhaled shakily and sat up. The sky was darker now, with precious few stars making their way past all the light pollution. The sounds of cars, people, and faint music from a bar or restaurant all mingled into a night song of Boston. Crowley stood, brushed the dirt off his clothes and made his way back to the hotel, walking as quickly as he could without it being considered running. He doubted that Zalgith would come after him inside a statue while he was among the general public, but he didn’t want to take any chances by being out and about longer than he needed to be. 

Once he arrived back at his hotel room (and almost scaring the poor receptionist, who must’ve thought he got involved in some fight), exhaustion fought to drag him to sleep but Crowley ignored it. He would sleep once everything was figured out. The dictionary and paper laid neatly on his desk, and Crowley sat down and got to work. He conjured up a pencil and a good eraser, and started flipping through. He wrote down the phrases he had already translated and added the new ones he found. A few times, he caught himself nodding off, and decided that wouldn’t do at all. So, a quick break was taken to walk five minutes to the nearest Dunkin shop and order some sugary coffee to keep him awake. It wasn’t particularly good coffee, but it wasn’t the worst in the world. With a caffeinated drink to keep him awake and a short walk to clear his head, he was back to work with renewed vigor. It wasn’t until the sun was finishing up on rising that Crowley had three clues entirely translated into English. With a feeling of triumph in his heart, Crowley promptly passed out on the desk and proceeded to sleep for about half the day.

Hint 1: This house hates sorrow, loves peace, offers a bath, recommends an idyllic life, and wishes to play host to honest men

Hint 2: For flavor and for health, with flowers of violet, grown in the land in the west across the sea

Hint 3: Find me in the old house of food 

Of all of them, the third one was easiest. Where to next find Tar’gen for the second hints. He had just gone down to ask the receptionist about it, saying he was new to the city (true) and a friend had some sort of scavenger hunt set up for him (mostly true) and it was pretty stupid (true). She had taken one look at the third hint and said that it was probably Faneuil Hall Marketplace. She wasn’t sure what it used to be used for, but it was a shopping center over three historical buildings with a lot of restaurants. He thanked her and decided to head over there. 

On the way, he looked over the other two. The first one he couldn’t make heads nor tails of. It was obviously referring to a specific building, a bathhouse probably, but nothing about it indicated a location. The second was about a plant or herb or something, but that was the one meant for appearance which didn’t make sense either. Crowley decided to focus on the second one for now, as the location riddles would be pointing to the same place, so one of them would have to be easier than that one. He mentally reviewed all of the healing plants he knew, which wasn’t many. Then he picked out the ones with purple flowers. Lavender, echinacea, ginger, milk thistle. Then, “grown in the land in the west across the sea”. Just saying Asia would have been easier, but Crowley guessed Tar’gen wanted to muddle things up. The only one he could think of that was associated with Asia was ginger, but what…

Of course! Ginger! Crowley froze and stared at the paper, holding back laughter. Of course, he should’ve seen it easily! Aziraphale would be a redhead. He chuckled at it, shaking his head. He didn’t really even need to know which one was associated with Asia, as ginger was the only one that was also used to describe appearance. He’d never seen a person be described as a “milk thistle” before in his life. 

Faneuil Hall was pretty busy this late in the afternoon, but he had no problem finding Tar’gen. He stuck out in a crowd. He also was shouting Crowley’s name and waving from one of the tables on the balcony level. Reluctantly, Crowley waved back and climbed the stairs. 

“I really thought Zalgith was gonna bash your head in the other night.” Tar’gen spoke through a mouthful of oyster crackers. He had a bowl of clam chowder, which he ignored in favor of the crackers. “Seriously.”

Crowley sat down and shrugged. “Well, she didn’t. Can I have my hints now?”

“Tell me if you figured any out yet. Can't let you off the hook if you just happened to get lucky.” Tar’gen reached out and Crowley handed him the paper reluctantly. “Fucking Heaven, you have terrible handwriting.”

“I figured out this one, didn’t it?” Crowley snapped. “And the second one is ginger, so he’s a redhead. And I figure I’ll piece together the location ones as we go so give me that back.”

Tar’gen nodded and examined the paper a moment more before handing it back. “Next time write neater. And you hungry? I hear the chower is good around here but I’m not a fish guy. All the soft bits get stuck on my teeth, so you can have it.” 

Crowley eyed the chowder suspiciously. “I’m not.” There was probably something in it, knowing demons and Hell. Nothing was ever freely given. “Just give me the hints so we can be on our way.”

“Wow, ok.” Tar’gen threw his hands up and leaned impossibly far back in his seat. “Sue me for being polite, wow. Anyway, here you go.” He plucked another sheet of paper from the air and handed it over. Crowley looked it over. These hints were very clearly not in Latin. He looked up and Tar’gen was gone. It was back to square one.

  
  


Second Hints

1\. Podarunok komunistiv do tsiyeyi krayiny. Tam, de navchannya ta mystetstvo obʺyednuyutʹsya, i vidznachayetʹsya vysokym rivnem

2\. Shcho spilʹnoho u vynakhidnykiv literatury, bahatʹokh solodkykh chastuvanʹ ta nastilʹnykh ihor dlya simʺyi?

3\. YA stoyu tam, de ty vyklykav khaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I remembered, from the last time I went to Boston, that there's actually a load of statues there so uh Crowley's kinda fucked
> 
> Also sorry this is so long. The hints chapters will be, because there’s a lot I want to put in them.


	6. First Hints (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took me a while to write! School and such. But we're chugging forward with this!!
> 
> Also major gross-out and potential trigger warning for this chapter. When Karina leaves his table, skip to when Aziraphale is outside lying on the ground if you aren't comfortable reading gross things involving Aziraphale and bugs. If you do skip this and want to know what you missed, leave a comment and I'll give you a summary of it. I'm not sure if this quite constitutes it, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Before Angrallan left, he handed Aziraphale a map and told him to head towards Warsaw. Then he slowly faded away, and knowing what he did about the demon, Aziraphale had to wonder if all they did was for dramatic effect. So, left alone in a field at night, with nothing but a map and a supernaturally good sense of direction, he started his trek.

Naturally, he had plenty of time to think over the clues. The first one, he very quickly decided, was the biggest waste of his time since email. “His defining features are hidden, by choice”. If Aziraphale were to guess what Crowley’s “defining features” would be, he’d have to say it was his eyes. A person doesn’t run into very many people that have the eyes of a snake, and if Aziraphale was honest he thought Crowley was the only one on Earth who did. But despite the fact that his eyes might show through the glamor, he wouldn’t be able to see them. “Hidden by choice”, nothing that the demons thought up, something Crowley did, to keep his lovely eyes hidden. Usually that meant sunglasses, but literally anybody on this big planet could be wearing sunglasses at any given moment. It was far, far too generalized and much too dependent on any number of factors. So Aziraphale put that one aside for a moment. 

The second one, location, was more promising. “Walk the path of rebellion, walk the path of betrayal, walk a path of history”. The word “path” was repeated several times throughout the short line, so Aziraphale suspected it was either meant to be taken literally or as a metaphor for something very important. Rebellion, betrayal, history. What caught his eye was “rebellion” and “history”, as he knew quite a bit on those. From full-scale revolutions to localized rebellions, Aziraphale had either been there or heard about it. But “betrayal” implied a civil war of sorts, or a war of independence. Aziraphale was ready to change his mind about this being a promising hint, because if he had a pound for every country who got its independence through war or had a civil war, he’d probably be a billionaire. But, a hint is a hint, and of course he’d have to keep the repeating “path” motif in mind as he did his research. 

Of course, the third one was possibly the deadest ringer of all of them. “Come to me at the place where they rule no more”, could they make these things any simpler? Of course, it was referring to an old house of government, either a palace or a parliament house or something of the sort, it didn’t matter. Aziraphale knew this one would be easy to figure out, he probably just had to ask around with the locals. Maybe the third one was meant to be easy to figure out. After all, this was where he had to meet with Angrallan for the next set of clues. It wouldn’t do them any good if he was wandering around lost for half the year. Or would it? Maybe the hint was a false set-up, where “rule no more” could be a metaphor or symbolism for something entirely different. Aziraphale let out a huff of air. He definitely spent too much time with his books. For now, best to take it literally, and if that turned out to be a dead end, he’d check elsewhere. Aziraphale was almost surprised with the ease he seemed to have in deciphering these hints, but he supposed it shouldn’t be too strange. After all, he’d spent nearly his entire life surrounded by literature. And hadn’t he decoded The Nice and Accurate Prophecies in barely over a day? Aziraphale smiled and held his head higher at the memory. Yes, he thought he’d do alright. 

It took until the edge of sunrise for Aziraphale to see something that wasn’t grass. A road, which seemed mostly empty. Checking the map, he could see he’d get to Warsaw this way but it would be a long walk. He followed the road for about half an hour, decided it a waste of energy, and settled on hitching a ride. If the driver turned out to be a homicidal maniac, well, he was capable of defending himself wasn’t he? As it turned out, a sweet elderly couple in a beaten-down truck gave him a lift, after he remembered how to speak decent Polish. They assumed he was some tourist and let him ride with them, since it happened to be that they were on their way to Warsaw too. Aziraphale introduced himself as Annie Fell, a name he’d gone by in the past, and the ride was filled with pleasant conversation. Aziraphale joked that this was the first time he’d been in a vehicle going under the speed limit, and they all had a good laugh about it. He was almost sad when they parted ways.

From there, finding a place to stay wasn’t too hard. After all, Warsaw was a tourist destination, so there were plenty of hotels in the area. In the end, he chose a small motel near the edge of town. It wasn’t so bad, and it was near a restaurant that looked quite nice. Once he reached his room, he quietly miracled away the smell of cigarettes and got to work.

Firstly, he wrote down the hints on a sheet of stationary. It was odd, how they stuck exactly in his head like they’d been etched in his mind. Of course, it wouldn’t be any good for those demons if he forgot everything, would it? He summoned up a case of pens and highlighters and started taking notes and underlining important details. Each time “path” was repeated in the second clue was highlighted, he wrote “research old palaces” under the third hint, and so forth until the page was nearly covered. It was a bit silly of them, he thought, to give riddles to a very literary-minded angel. But it’s not as if Aziraphale was ever one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially never in a time of crisis. 

Aziraphale really had no clue how much time had passed before he looked up from his paper. It truly was a mess now, but it was the same type of mess as his bookshop. He knew what each color highlighter meant and what the abbreviations stood for, although nobody else would be able to figure out his methods. He stood up and stretched, feeling his bones pop and crack. He must’ve been there for a while to be feeling so stiff. These types of things would happen, where he got so absorbed into a project of some sorts and before he knew it, it was next week. Aziraphale paced around his room a moment, wondering what he ought to do, before he remembered that restaurant down the road and decided it was time to check it out. He took a quick look at himself in the mirror to see if he was decent, and almost jumped when he didn’t see himself. He’d almost forgotten. Six thousand years in one body, and an angel tends to get a bit used to it. 

Being that he was an angel, Aziraphale never actually felt the sensation of hunger. It wasn’t of any use for a being that didn’t need to eat, so the feature just never got added. But Aziraphale could usually tell when he felt like eating things, which was just about the same as feeling hungry in his opinion. And as he walked down the road, enjoying the feeling of the summer sun, he felt it was high time he ate something. Aziraphale could tell it’d been a while, although without a proper way to track the time, he couldn’t tell exactly how long. Certainly though, the last time was his lunch date with Crowley before all of this happened. He smiled at the memory and kept it at the forefront of his mind. These were the things that were at stake if he even thought of failure. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. He would be alright. With that assurance, he pushed open the door to the restaurant.

The only real word to describe it was “cute”. It was small, with few other guests dining, but the decor was charming and the baby-blue carpet certainly put Aziraphale in a good mood. The hostess was friendly and sat him in a booth by a window, which Aziraphale took to looking out of. The view wasn’t exciting. Just the road and some trees, but it was better than the empty seat in front of him. Eating without Crowley always felt a certain sort of hollow, where he still enjoyed it but not as much as he knows he could possibly. It wasn’t the same, eating out, without someone to chat and joke with and occasionally swipe a few bites of his desserts. The experience really wasn’t the same without Crowley, even though he’d eaten alone plenty of times and thought it a perfectly alright thing to do. But that was it, it was alright. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable. 

Aziraphale got so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly hit his head on the ceiling when the waiter came to take his order. He hadn’t even glanced at the menu, so he just asked for a glass of water and some time to decide on a meal. Suddenly, he feels as though he might not eat much. And despite the opposite seat being empty, there is an ever-present sensation of eyes on him. Irrationally, he glances around the restaurant several times, although not a soul is sitting close enough to care for staring at him. A skimming of the menu is enough for him to decide on a plate of kopytka, small potato dumplings. It would be enough for him to feel like he’s eaten and quick enough to get out of the restaurant where eyes are everywhere. 

Either the food was out quickly or Aziraphale was lost in his head again. The restaurant was nearly empty, so it was quite possible that the chefs had nothing else to do. The kopytka were arranged nicely on the small plate, and there was a decent amount of them for the smaller portion he ordered. He hadn’t much occasion to savor the food as he might have at another time, so Aziraphale simply speared a couple kopytka on his fork at a time and ate them.

Right away, from the first bite, something was off. The texture was more crisp and crunchy than one might expect from potato dumplings, but it was something he could move past. The taste was something else entirely. Aziraphale had had kopytka a handful of times in the past, never as good as when made in Poland, no matter where he had it. Which made the bitter, almost oily taste of this particular dish surprising. Were the chefs that bad? The aftertaste made him want to vomit. Aziraphale managed to struggle through four of them before he waved down a waitress. 

“Excuse me, miss?” He pointed at the plate. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I’ve had this dish before and the texture and taste is entirely different than when I’ve had it in the past. Is this usual for this restaurant?” 

Karina, the name written on the waitress’s name tag, frowned and leaned in to look at the dish. “It looks normal.” She said. “Could you describe it to me?” 

Aziraphale picked one up and held it out to her. “Try a bite?” He asked. “I’d just like to know if it’s regular.” 

Karina hesitantly took the kopytka, as if she thought Aziraphale was trying to get her in trouble. She took a small bite and immediately screwed up her face and spat it into a napkin. “Blegh, that is not normal!” She exclaimed. “Reminds me of when I ate a bug on a dare as a kid. I’m so sorry about this, ma’am. I can ask to have your meal paid for, and have a word with whoever made this. This is not up to our standards.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it!” Aziraphale waved off her apologies with a smile. “I’d just have the bill now, that’s all.” Karina nodded and went off, and Aziraphale went back to looking out the window. Something she said stuck with him, the thing about the bugs. It couldn’t be that some had gotten into the food while it was cooking, could it? He shuddered at the thought. Aziraphale had eaten bugs before in countries that cooked them, but the difference was he preferred to know what he was eating. Having crickets knowingly and having a cricket hop into the batter of his cake were two very different experiences. He let out a quick huff from his nose and turned back to the table. Almost immediately, he felt bile rise in his throat. 

The napkin Karina had spit into now contained two halves of a cockroach, one whole and spilling brown guts and the other chewed and mashed. His plate was covered in delicately arranged roaches of varying sizes. Aziraphale’s stomach churned, thinking back on the crunch and bitterness of his meal. A plate of roaches. 

“Aw, is the poor little angel gonna puke?” A mocking voice came from in front of him. Aziraphale jerked his head up to see the demon Razzod smiling in the seat opposite him, head resting in her palms.

“What’s the matter?” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I thought you liked dining with demons.”

“Um. If you’ll excuse me.” Aziraphale rose to his feet and walked swiftly, almost jerkily, to the bathrooms. For a moment, he had a debate over which bathroom he ought to use, before telling himself that vomiting does not use either set of genitals and staggered into the women’s room. He went into the closest stall, locked it, and almost instantly dropped in front of the toilet to empty his stomach.

“Satan, man. That’s kinda rude.” Razzod’s grating voice floated from behind him. Aziraphale whipped around to see her standing over him. “Am I that disgusting?” She sneered. 

“What was the point in that?” Aziraphale spat out, subtly getting rid of the sour taste lingering in his mouth. “It was just...invasive. Disgusting. What do you want?” He stood up and crossed his arms, putting on a steady face despite his watering eyes.

Razzod chuckled and shrugged. “It was fun though, wasn’t it?” She said. “I’m a performer at heart. Zalgith, she just wants the job done, but I don’t see any harm in having a bit of fun with it. Anyway, on to the main course.” She spread her arms, the sleeves of her black dress hanging down like wings. “More bugs!” 

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed. He meant to protest more, but the words died in his throat as the walls of the bathroom stall stretched up to the ceiling and down to the floor, making a sucking noise as they sealed. “What’s all this for?” 

“Like I said. Bugs. I have a bit of a theme, being a Specialized Nightmare and everything.” Razzod waved her hands at the ceiling and the toilet, and a soft scuttling noise filled the small area. Aziraphale’s confusion turned into cold fear as roaches climbed out of the toilet in the masses, and beetles fell out of the vent on the ceiling. 

“What a way to go.” Razzod placed her hands on her hips and gave the area a satisfied look. “Drowned in beetles and roaches. That’s gotta be unpleasant.” She smiled, waved, and blinked out of existence, leaving Aziraphale trapped.

Miracles didn’t work. He tried leaving, going to his room or the road or just the outside of the stall but nothing worked. He tried stopping the flow of insects but if anything it only increased the sheer numbers. He was able to manually unlock the door, but it was stuck fast and no miracle would loosen it up. He couldn’t kill them. Aziraphale originally tried stomping on them as fast as they came out, but it made little difference. He had a terrible feeling the flow wouldn’t stop until it killed him. Aziraphale climbed on top of the toilet and desperately looked for a way out. 

After only a minute, the floor was covered in a sea of swarming, seething beetles. Some had died from the fall or from being crushed in the masses, but the height of it only kept rising. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would think he could feel prickly legs forcing their way up his throat, but there weren’t. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. He was imagining things. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Aziraphale opened his eyes to three large roaches crawling up his shoe. He stifled a cry of alarm behind his hand and looked down with wide eyes. In the seconds he’d looked away, the bugs were covering the toilet fairly easily. Aziraphale hit and kicked the tiled wall behind him to no avail. Normally he could do it. On any other occasion, he could break out if necessary. But the walls must’ve been demonically reinforced, or something along those lines. He shook the beetles off his leg and looked up at the ceiling. 

After a moment, Aziraphale realized there was something...off about the vent. It looked to be a perfectly normal vent, if not a little large, and the beetles falling from it seemed to be perfectly normal beetles. But there was just something about it he couldn’t put his finger on. He swatted more bugs off his pants, although it was getting much harder to keep them all off, and it all came to him. The roaches weren’t crawling out of the pipes to come out of the toilet bowl, they simply came into being somewhere around the rim of it. And if Aziraphale looked hard enough, he could see the same was true for the vent. The beetles didn’t fall out of it, they came into being just below. And the vent had to lead somewhere. If he were only able to get up to the ceiling...if he could somehow climb up, remove the cover, and was actually able to fit through the vent, he could make it out. 

Aziraphale wished dearly he had any time to think about it, but as it stood he was ankle deep in bugs and for every one he swatted off of him, ten more took its place so he really did need to hurry. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped onto the swarming mass of insects. To his surprise, it held fairly well. He only sunk up to his ankles. Unsurprisingly, the moment his foot touched them, the bugs were swept up in a frenzy, clambering over each other to crawl up his body. Aziraphale made it to the corner of the stall, braced his hands and feet on each side of the wall, and pushed himself up. With his hands being used, the bugs were left to crawl on him, and they made a beeline to his face. Deep breath in, hold. Mouth closed. He started to push himself up to the ceiling. 

It was quick enough work, even with the small tickling sensation of small legs scittering over his lips distracted him several times. It wasn’t a very tall room, after all. Aziraphale glanced at the vent, a few feet in front of him. As he had predicted, the beetles were falling from just a few centimeters below. He sucked in a breath through his nose and tried a miracle on the vent, just making a screw fall out. It was easier with gestures, since the miracle had something to direct it and a path to follow. Without that, it required concentration to get it exactly where he wanted. A glance at the top-right-screw, and it dropped out of place into the mass of bugs. Aziraphale nearly laughed in delight, before remembering the insects that would gladly crawl down his throat. One, two, three more screws fell, and so did the cover. From his angle, he could quite tell if he’d fit in, but it was his only shot. If it didn’t work, he would figure out something when he wasn’t in danger of being covered by insects. Speaking of...they were nearly at him now. Aziraphale could tell he wouldn’t be able to reach across to the open vent. He’d have to try his hand at jumping, catching the edge, and pulling himself up. The first two were the only real challenges. He couldn’t quite do his breathing, not like this. Not with the bugs coming at him every which way, ready to crawl into who-knows-where. So, Aziraphale nodded to himself, closed his eyes, and pushed off the wall with as much force as he could.

It might have been the angle. It could have been that he closed his eyes and so he missed the edge. Whatever it was, Aziraphale opened his eyes hopefully when his fingertips brushed the ledge, only to turn into horror when he couldn’t grab on. He fell back onto the bugs, but luckily on his feet, and luckily they were high enough that he could jump up and stick his hands into the shaft of the vent. Aziraphale’s arms shook of exhaustion, from holding him up so long, but somehow he managed to haul himself into the vent and somehow he fit in, just barely. It mustn’t have been as small as it seemed. 

He crawled quickly away from the opening, needing to get away from that stall as fast as he could. Aziraphale rested, just a moment, frozen with the thought that there might be enough of them to crawl up and flood the vent too. He waited about five minutes, and the only thing he could hear was his own heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart. It was only after those five minutes had passed that he realized was no longer covered in insects. Sighing in relief, he crawled the rest of the way to the end of the vent, where another cover was placed. Looking through the slots, he could see the dying grass outside the restaurant and the road he walked to come here. Aziraphale was impatient with miracle and knocked the grate out before sliding out. He made it a few steps before his shaking legs gave out and he fell to the ground. He didn’t feel anything, besides exhaustion maybe. He supposed maybe all his panic got used up back there and now he’s none left. Or else it would all come back to him once he figured he was alright to be feeling it. Right now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was lying on the hard ground, staring at a sky that was black from light pollution, and breathing. Aziraphale raised a hand to his face to scratch and itch, and it was only when he touched his cheek did he realize he had tears coming down in buckets. He hadn’t known. 

The next day, Aziraphale spent the day in his room, double checking his notes. Fretting, pacing, and talking to himself about every doubt he had about any miniscule note he’d made. He had a list made for the locations and was crossing off and adding any as was needed. Either way, the second hint would make it easier since they were all going to be hinting at the same place. But the other two...he didn’t want to be wrong. Was he even sure Crowley’s “distinguishing features” were his eyes? It could be his tattoo after all, or something else he wouldn’t even think of because he’d known him too long and simply got used to seeing it. Aziraphale asked the man who cleaned his room about any old palaces or such, and he’d said it was most likely just The Royal Castle, and that it wouldn’t be open on a Monday, but tomorrow would be just fine. Aziraphale had thanked him, but he worried it was too obvious. “Where they ruled no more” could mean anything, if one really thought about it. 

The day after, despite his worries, he took a bus to the Royal Castle that afternoon. It wasn’t that busy yet, but it was attracting a good crowd. Aziraphale had to admit, it was lovely. Simply admiring it from the outside was enough, but when he went inside to find Angrallan, he nearly forgot what he was there for. He spent about half an hour, exploring the extravagant rooms, a testimony to royalty past. He had to see this with Crowley one of these days.

“Did you forget about me or what?”

Aziraphale jumped and turned to find Angrallan behind him. In the light of day, they were glaringly obvious instead of just hardly visible. “You demons and your coming up right behind me and scaring the living daylights out of me!” He huffed. “I was looking around.”

“Well, whatever you were doing, I’m here now.” Angrallan smirked and crossed their arms. “Unless you’ve figured out at least two hints, you don’t get the next ones.”

Aziraphale nodded and swallowed his anxieties down. He wasn’t wrong. He  _ couldn’t _ be wrong. “Distinguishing features. That would be his eyes, and I won’t be able to see them.  _ Quite  _ helpful.” He pointedly ignored Angrallan’s quiet laughter and continued. “And I am here, so clearly I figured out that this is where you wanted to meet.”

“So you did.” Angrallan nodded. “Alright then, it’s time to get your second hints.” They rubbed their hands together and glanced up at the ceiling, seemingly in deep thought. “You know the drill.” They said simply, as that horrible cracking filled the air. Aziraphale looked away, and when it was safe to look again, an elderly woman stood, leaning heavily on a cane.

“This is just...you’re kidding.” Aziraphale glanced around the room. “We are in public! I can’t cause a scene here, you’re being absurd.”

“What, do you want to find your boyfriend or not?” Angrallan’s voice hissed from the old lady’s mouth. “If you don’t, then skip the hints.” At the continued silence, they let out a groan. “Look, now everyone’s distracted. They won’t look at us even if they’re in the room. Happy, angel?”

Aziraphale could tell he was right. The essence of a demonic miracle was floating heavily around them. He nodded closed his eyes. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. “Alright.” He muttered. “Alright.” 

All of a sudden, he lunged forward and grabbed Angrallan by the shoulders. It was easier after hearing their voice. “You know what I want to know!” He spat at the demon. “Tell me or you don’t want to know what I’ll do!” He thought he was doing rather well, until Angrallan laughed. 

“Oh, you charming young lady.” They said, this time in a voice more fitting the corporation. “I ought to...ought to pinch your cheeks and such.”

“You’re bloody ridiculous!” Aziraphale shook them harshly, trying to ignore the face of the corporation, ignore the sound of footsteps in the room. “Just tell me, you great idiot, what’s the matter?” 

Angrallan laughed, their natural terrible cackle of a laugh, and nodded sharply. The miracle lifted and they yelled. “Help, please!” They called in a feeble voice. “My daughter, someone please help!” 

Aziraphale stared blankly at Angrallan as the sounds of running footsteps echoed off the marble walls. He stared as he was pulled harshly away from the demon and dimly heard someone call for security. Angrallan waved at him, and there it was, he thought bleakly as the security guards ran in. He had the hints.

Second Hints

1\. He is not quite so different since you last saw him

2\. A monster stands tall above the people, sees them running and yelling, sees them play their futile game with him. A monster stands tall, uncaring, watching as they scream and throw things at him. The monster stands tall

3\. What an ironic twist that I will be found at a site commemorating a fight against evil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we get an f in the comments for Aziraphale
> 
> Sorry this chapter took forever,,,got longer than I meant it to be


	7. Second Hints (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don't care about which books are actually in the Boston Public Library, I don't care about the layout of the city, I live in MA so I'm allowed to butcher this city for convenience purposes

Crowley never thought he’d regret skipping that Human Languages class they’d offered in Hell back in the 1200s. At the time, he had much better things to be doing, such as not being in Hell, and he’d heard the course was bullshit from some demons who actually did go. He’d picked up on a good amount of languages just by virtue of living so long and getting bored easily, but one thing he wished he was able to do was differentiate between Slavic languages. 

It was simple enough, at least to him, to figure out that his next set of hints were indeed in some Slavic language within a couple of days. But quite honestly, Crowley could not tell them apart, and has never been able to. Maybe if he went over that side of the world more often, but the cold didn’t suit him and he only went if he had some sort of assignment there. 

Crowley taped the new paper up on the wall and paced around the room. There was no way in Heaven he was going back to the library. That was just absolutely not worth the risk. Not with that freaky demon girl possessing everything in sight. There had to be somewhere he could just sit down and figure things out without risk to his safety. Somewhere where there was nothing to be inside and moved around and all that nonsense. It was ridiculous, the whole damn city was filled with statues. Crowley fell back onto the bed and cursed his past self for accidentally making the place a historical site. It really was a bad idea, now that he thought about it. And he just barely managed to bullshit the American Revolution into something evil for his yearly reports, so the whole thing just hadn’t been worth the trouble. 

He forced himself to get up and take an actual shower. Then, after that, maybe food. Of course, Crowley could always just miracle himself clean and didn’t need to eat, but there were times when he just had to do things the human way. Stressful times brought out the apathy in him, and well. Sometimes a hot shower and a snack was in order to set things back in place. He did, however, just miracle the outfit he’d been wearing clean. Crowley just didn’t feel like going through the process of making a whole new one, and it was the only outfit he actually had on him at the moment. 

One scalding shower and an hour later, Crowley found himself at a small internet cafe, probably locally owned judging by the scarce customers. The coffee was better than that Dunkin chain shit, and they had decent blueberry muffins, so Crowley considered himself set for the time being. He scrolled through some news sites on a laptop, purely out of boredom. Some new virus in China, people joking about World War 3, some Polish lady attacking her elderly mother ...never any good news. Of course, Crowley thought with a hint of a smile, Aziraphale would say it’s because good things are so commonplace that it’s hardly news. Or something dorky like that. His mind wandered to Aziraphale in general, wondering what he was up to. Probably getting shit done with time to spare. Crowley did have to wonder if Aziraphale had to deal with the language barriers or if he had something else. If he knew his angel, he was probably enjoying fancy meals while he was over wherever the Heaven he was. Well, he thought, one of them might as well make the most of a free vacation. All Crowley was doing was hoping he’d be out before the cold set in and trying to avoid the fifty million statues in the city. 

With that, he suddenly startled with an idea and almost spilled his coffee. He’d gone to the library and been attacked, but that was at night. Nobody else was there and he’d disabled the security cameras for the time he was in there. But...maybe while it was still daytime and people were milling about. Surely she wouldn’t come in a statue in front of a crowd, would she? At the very least Zalgith would have to show up herself, and she would be very easy to spot. Nothing quite subtle about a tall, scary girl with bandages around her eyes. Crowley stood up, detached from himself, and started towards the library. His heart pounded and his throat tightened shut. It was risky but it was a plan. It was something. And something was better than nothing so it would get him somewhere. Either he’d know that this library wouldn’t work out or he’d be in without problems. He moved feeling like he was being jerked about by some giant puppetmaster. Altogether, the feeling was quite unpleasant.

When he reached the library at last, he hesitated. The two statues of Science and Art, two towering women above him, still stared as if they still had life within them. Crowley’s chest tightened with the memory of how close he’d brushed discorporation with them. He couldn’t see where he’d jumped out from, but the rush of fear from it and the sensation of free fall came back clearly. Maybe he wouldn’t take Aziraphale here, not for a while at least. He ought to have brought the book he stole back. Of course, he had to do that. He ought to leave and go back to the hotel. To get the book, of course. And then what was the rush to come back, anyway? They’d given him a year, which was a good amount of time. Crowley thought he got through the first set of puzzles rather quickly, just a few weeks. He wanted to leave, or to go inside at least, but he seemed stuck. A quick scan told him that it wasn’t any demonic influence. Just himself. If it had been either the scary one Zalgith, or that hooligan Tar’gen, it’d be easier to be stuck. Wouldn’t be his fault. But with the stone cold eyes of Science and Art fixated on him, the thumping of his heart, and his gasping breath, he couldn’t hide it from himself. He was freaking out, and over what? A library? He’d seen worse things, been through worse things, and this was what got him in a panic? Somewhere in him, Crowley managed to feel disappointed. So many things, and this, out of all of them. What a shame, too. Aziraphale really would love it. 

As caught up as he was in everything happening, Crowley did manage to catch the whispered “hey, you” coming from seemingly right behind him. That surprisehim out of his state, mostly because no one was waiting behind him to tell him something. He looked around, still halfway in his panic and looking like a complete idiot. Crowley had almost decided to just go back to the hotel and take a nap when a disgruntled Tar’gen pushed through the crowds.

“Satan below, I’ve got to do everything myself, haven’t I?” Tar’gen huffed, grabbing Crowley by the wrist and dragging him down the sidewalk. “I was just...I was clearly by the stairs! You probably would be able to see me if you weren’t in those goddamn sunglasses half your life.” 

Crowley, thoroughly confused, followed along until he remembered that it might not be the best idea to let a demon blindly lead him somewhere, especially one that was out for his blood. He tore his wrist out of Tar’gen’s surprisingly strong grip and crossed his arms. “What’s the deal?” He snarled. “What the fuck do you want from me  _ now _ ?” 

Tar’gen glared at him a moment, anger smoldering in his dead black eyes. But, the moment passed and the fire drained from him. “Look, dude.” He said, glancing at the sidewalk. “I know about anxiety, ok? I felt bad.”

“Uh huh.” Crowley didn’t relent. There were a number of tricks a demon could pull to get another vulnerable, and feigning one’s own vulnerability wasn’t exactly the oldest trick in the book, but it was one of the first additions to the book. “So. I’m gonna leave.”

Tar’gen’s head shot up, a sort of panic crossing his face. “No, don’t!” He cried, reaching out for Crowley, who took a step back. The few remaining people shot them some dirty looks, but otherwise the outburst went unnoticed. “Come on, give me some credit. I’m a lower-level demon, man, everyone’s out for me.” He shrugged. “Working as a Sleep Paralysis Demon is good fun, but all the uppers like to pick on you, and…” Tar’gen shuddered, as if recalling several unpleasant memories at once. “Well, you wouldn’t know how it gets, being higher-up, but a guy’s gotta be on alert. So. I get what you’re going through.”

“Right.” Despite himself, Crowley felt his suspicion fade away. Tar’gen seemed at least partly genuine, which was odd. “What’s that have to do with anything?” He glanced around the block, which had gone weirdly quiet. The only sounds were of a car passing by every so often. Not a person in sight. 

Tar’gen reached above his head and plucked a small sheet of paper out of the air. “I want to help.” He said, and held the paper out to Crowley. “I know what the hints are, translated. I got them in English.” 

Crowley looked down at the paper, then up at Tar’gen, then down again. Getting a read on the situation was difficult. On one hand, he wanted to laugh in Tar’gen’s face and tear the paper up. On the other, he felt traitorously inclined to believe him. “Thought you lot were keeping bets on who failed and such.” He said, adding as much sarcasm to the sentence as possible.

“You’d think  _ you  _ would get that we aren’t all cookie-cutter mean demons.” Tar’gen chuckled and waved the paper lightly. “You and that angel seem like an ok lot, and like I said, I understand you. So.” He shrugged, an embarrassed flush creeping up his corpse-white cheeks. 

It was a slippery situation to get a grasp on, and Crowley didn’t like that. He was  _ good  _ at reading situations, at least a fair amount of the time, and usually he could tell if someone was fucking with him or being serious. Comes of lifetimes with the snarkiest angel Heaven could think up. He felt on edge, but a little nagging voice in the back of his head told him to just relax. Tar’gen was practically a kid, right? No demons were “children”, really, they all Fell at most the same time, and it’s not like anyone really ever wanted to get pregnant Down There so nobody did. It was an odd situation, but overall...what was the harm of just taking the paper? He could always translate the hints himself, see if they match up. Experience told him that there was a lot of harm involved, but…

“Well are you gonna take it or not, dumbass, I don’t have all fucking day.” Tar’gen waved the paper around Crowley’s face, just to annoy him it seemed.

Crowley snatched the paper out of Tar’gen’s hand, and glared at him. He held it by just his fingertips, being extra cautious with unfolding it and checking over each fold for any sign of extra demonic energy. Nothing, only the usual residual amount from being near a demon. He flipped it over, to see what had been written, even if it wasn’t legitimate. Either way, couldn’t hurt.

Second Hints (Translated)

  1. Get fucked
  2. . Get fucked
  3. GET FUCKED LOVER BOY HAHA



Crowley meant to look up and make an angry remark on it, because he was upset that this was just for a little bit of a laugh, but before he had the chance to there was a crack in the back of his skull and he felt a sharp pain explode behind his eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath as his palms scraped on the pavement. That would probably bleed. Before he could get another thought through his head, a crack sounded again and his world went fuzzy. He could hear shrieking, gleeful laughter, and then everything blurred into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *henchman voice* That's gotta hoit
> 
> I know this one is shorter, but I kinda planned it that way because honestly the next one is gonna be kinda long

**Author's Note:**

> Cries in this idea is stupid


End file.
